


A silence never seemed so loud

by Eriskay



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Popstar, Anxiety, Cue Viktor, Fanboy Katsuki Yuuri, Figure Skater Katsuki Yuuri, First Meetings, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Meet and Greets, Olympics, Popstar Viktor Nikiforov, Romance, Self Confidence Issues, Yuuri being his usual insecure self even when he succeeds, figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 02:29:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14885907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eriskay/pseuds/Eriskay
Summary: Yuuri can’t believe his luck when he wins an exclusive meet and greet with Viktor Nikiforov, the world famous pop icon with millions of devoted fans, Yuuri’s longtime idol and true inspiration. Sure, the timing could have been a lot better, but Yuuri is determined to meet Viktor no matter what. He’ll just have to sneak away, and get back as soon as possible. Maybe Celestino won’t even notice.Viktor is tired, and lonely, and not at all expecting to fall so deeply in love with a beautiful stranger. Now, if only there was a way for them to see each other again.A story about meetings, about things that are lost but not forgotten, and eventually, about being found.





	A silence never seemed so loud

**Author's Note:**

> written for [yoibb18](http://yurionicebigbang.tumblr.com/) in collaboration with the amazing [dyeingdoll](https://dyeingdoll.tumblr.com/), who has made [truly fantastic art](https://dyeingdoll.tumblr.com/post/174791377052/my-second-yurionicebigbang-project-i) for this project. please go and give her all the love for her stunning, wonderful, absolutely _beautiful_ work that perfectly captures the feeling I wanted this story to have. 
> 
> thank you to [narcissuspseudonarcissus](https://narcissuspseudonarcissus.tumblr.com/) for excellent plot feedback and beta reading, and to [chidney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chidney/pseuds/Chidney) for helping me brainstorm and reading drafts at all stages and holding my hand through this whole journey. I owe so much of how this turned out to both of you. ♥

It’s not that Viktor doesn’t _like_ meeting his fans.

He does.

Most of them are perfectly lovely, a bit nervous but so eager to talk to him. Usually, they’ve got something important to say, something they’ve thought about for a long time. They might tell Viktor which song is their favourite, or ask about the meaning of certain lyrics, or talk about why Viktor’s music is so important to them. Emotions will sometimes run high, with complete sentences being somewhat exceptional and tissues an absolute necessity.

Viktor doesn’t mind.

Because he’s good at this part. He’s good at reading the mood, knows when to make a joke and when when not to, when it’s better to just listen. He tries to be sincere, or as sincere as he’s able to, because Viktor knows perfectly well that what people want from him isn’t always _him_ , the way he is. Quite often, Viktor finds that he needs to make the choice between disappointing, or deceiving.

It’s never been a difficult decision.

Afterwards, Viktor always feels tired, and sometimes almost drained – except it’s in the good way, similar to the feeling he gets after a good workout. He’s tired, but still energised. Sometimes, he even feels inspired. Those times, Viktor tries to get hold of pen and paper as soon as he possibly can, knowing that when he does, he _will_ write. The words will come easily. And when Viktor shows the new lyrics to his manager, he will most likely get one of Yakov’s rare nods of approval.

“That’s actually decent, Vitya. Let’s use it.”

So really, the problem isn’t that there’s a long line of fans waiting for Viktor at the meet-and-greet.

The problem is, that Viktor is already tired.

If Viktor was honest with himself, he might acknowledge that he’s been feeling constantly exhausted for quite some time, now. Weeks, maybe even months.

Possibly, for the past year.

Viktor sits down, takes a deep breath and tries to find some semblance of strength within himself. He somehow manages to smile towards the girl who’s first in line, welcoming her forward.

“Hi, I’m Viktor. What would you like me to sign?”

Fortunately, the whole thing starts off fairly smoothly. His fans are lovely, no surprise there, and even though this is an exclusive meet-and-greet open only to the lucky winners of a contest, most of the guests don’t demand too much of his time. An autograph, a bit of small talk, a few selfies and then they’re on their way. Viktor signs CDs, and posters, and notebooks, and he obliges two girls who want his signature on their arms. He talks about the inspiration for his music, and says _thank you_ and _oh, that’s one of my favourites too_ and _I haven’t heard that cover but I’ll definitely look it up_. And he smiles. He smiles, and smiles, and smiles, and smiles.

An hour later, when only a few people remain, Viktor feels more like an empty shell than an actual person, drained of every semblance of emotion.

Yakov steps in to offer Viktor some water, which he accepts gratefully. He tries to ignore Yakov’s not-so-subtle frown as he takes a drink. Yakov asks, sometimes, how Viktor is doing. Lately, he’s been asking a lot. Viktor usually tries to avoid answering the question altogether – there’s no point in lying to Yakov, and even if Viktor tried giving an honest answer he wouldn’t actually know what to say.

Thankfully, something happening over by the doors to the venue seems to distract Yakov.

Viktor looks over, too.

Someone has just entered the room and is speaking with one of the attendants from the venue, gesturing over towards the people still in line, and Viktor. It’s a young man, Japanese by the looks of it – no surprise there, considering that this tour stop is Tokyo, almost everyone in attendance have been Japanese. The man is wearing glasses and a blue jacket with some kind of logos printed on the front, most of which are blocked by the straps of his black backpack. More importantly, though, Viktor can’t help but notice that this man is _seriously_ attractive. There is something truly captivating about his eyes, or maybe it’s actually sort of his entire face? Viktor isn’t sure. But he would very much like a closer look.

The guy looks distressed, Viktor belatedly realizes. He’s still talking to the attendant, making a lot of gestures and bowing slightly every now and then in that distinctly Japanese manner. Maybe he’s in the wrong place, looking for directions? Or maybe he’s tried to reserve this room, for some other event, and there’s been a double booking?

Something the attendant says makes the man scramble to take off his backpack and get it open, pulling out a familiar pink sheet of paper with the word ‘Congratulations!’ written at the top.

Viktor blinks, surprised.

Most of his fans are girls. Most of the people who entered the contest were probably girls. And among the winners, girls and young women have definitely been well represented.

Yet apparently, this beautiful young man is actually here for Viktor.

“Wow,” Viktor hears himself saying out loud.

Unfortunately, that makes Yakov look back towards him.

“What?”

“No, that’s… I mean, I think I’m ready to get back to it. There aren’t many people left, we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

“Apparently, there’s one more person now,” Yakov mutters, nodding towards where the attendant is handing the Most Beautiful Man In The World a VIP pass and pointing him towards the end of the line. “Young people these days. No sense of punctuality.”

Viktor doesn’t answer that. Instead, he turns towards the line again, and this time it’s a little easier to smile towards the next person.

“Hello, nice to meet you, I’m Viktor. Would you like me to sign your poster?”

As Viktor makes his way through the last few people in line, he can’t stop himself from glancing towards the young man. Their eyes never meet, because the man seems to be preoccupied with something on his phone. He’s frowning, Viktor notices, and for some reason he still looks distressed.

Viktor has never been so eager to put a smile on someone’s face.

He’s barely able to contain his excitement by the time he gets to turn back towards the line, where the man is now the only person remaining. He has put away his phone and is clutching his backpack in his arms in a way that looks neither relaxed, nor especially comfortable. Clearly, he’s nervous.

Viktor makes his smile gentle.

“Hi, I’m Viktor,” he says, gesturing for the man to step forwards. “So, just you left, then?”

“I’m so sorry I was late!” the man blurts out. He takes a single, tentative step closer to Viktor. “Things have been… I had this thing, earlier.”

“It’s no problem,” Viktor quickly reassures him. “I can hardly expect to be the center of anyone’s universe, can I? But thank you for coming, even though you’re busy.”

The man doesn’t say anything in response to that. However, something complicated passes over his expression. And he’s _still_ not smiling.

“What’s your name?” Viktor asks, tilting his head curiously.

“Yuuri.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor repeats, quickly finding that he loves the sound of it. “That’s a beautiful name.”

Yuuri stares at him, looking almost shocked. And to Viktor’s delight, Yuuri is starting to blush, the faint colour on his cheeks making him even more breathtaking.

“So, _Yuuri_ ,” Viktor continues, this time emphasizing the syllables just to see if it’ll make Yuuri’s blush deepen (it does). “What would you like me to sign?”

“Oh, uhm.” Yuuri quickly opens his backpack, pulling out a plastic bag and setting it aside in order to reach something at the very bottom of the bag.

To Viktor’s surprise, it’s one of his older singles. His second one, _Lost and found_.

It happens from time to time that someone brings Viktor’s first single, _Violet_ , for him to sign. Other than that, it’s usually his latest release, or someone’s favourite album, or some other, personal item. _Lost and found_ is… Well.

“I can’t believe anyone even remembers this song,” Viktor jokes, accepting the CD case from Yuuri’s hands and reaching for his sharpie. “Actually, I’m not sure if _I_ remember it.”

To his surprise, that makes Yuuri’s eyes widen.

“But it’s your best one.”

Viktor, who was about to start writing, pauses.

“I mean,” Yuuri continues, and suddenly his voice is fierce, the look in his eyes determined. “Musically speaking, it’s _definitely_ your best work – that crescendo at the end of the second verse, just as the rhythm intensifies? It’s flawless. And the lyrics, they’re so beautiful, especially the part that goes _and I keep trying to call out, keep answering that voice inside, a silence never seemed so loud, the echo never dies,_ it’s just… It’s real, somehow. It’s so perfect.”

Viktor has raised both eyebrows by the time Yuuri finishes, partly because he’s been thoroughly surprised by Yuuri’s passionate admission (if he thinks about it, it’s the first time in a very long time that Viktor has been surprised by anything, and the feeling is even more delightful than he remembers) but also because he really, _really_ doesn’t agree. With any of it.

“I never liked those lyrics,” Viktor says, finding that he can’t answer Yuuri’s sincerity with anything less than the truth. “I wanted _Lost and found_ to be uplifting, to be about belonging, about being found. But it’s not. _Lost and found_ is about being lost. It’s not uplifting, or comforting. It’s sad. And actually depressing.”

Yuuri has started to shake his head long before Viktor finishes.

“It’s not sad,” he retorts, and there’s a steely edge in his voice that wasn’t there before. “It’s profound, and touching. It’s genuine.”

“It’s not genuine,” Viktor says, has to say, because really, it’s _not_. “It’s an attempt that didn’t turn out very well. It’s a stepping stone, a phase in my creativity that I had to work past.”

That makes Yuuri actually glare at him.

“It’s _vulnerable_ , if you even know what that means anymore, and that’s why it’s so moving. That’s why it’s more real than anything you’ve written before or since.”

Viktor’s mouth falls open in surprise – no, in actual shock. Whatever he’d expected when Yuuri had first stumbled through the door to his meet-and-greet, more than an hour late and in a state of near panic, it certainly wasn’t this. How is it possible that this gorgeous, _gorgeous_ young man is not only the most beautiful person alive, but also capable of delivering his opinions of Viktor’s work with utterly irresistible passion and conviction – despite the fact that he was all wide eyes and soft blushes no less than a minute ago?

It’s official. Viktor is in _love_.

Meanwhile, Yuuri’s expression has changed rapidly. He must have caught up with himself, and the entire situation, and what he just said, because he looks absolutely horrified.

“I mean, what I’m trying to say is – I really love that song.” Yuuri’s tone has turned quiet, almost weak. And unlike before, he’s barely looking at Viktor. “I love all of your music. I do. But I’ve always loved _Lost and found_ the most.”

Viktor could answer that in many different ways. He could fall back on his standard lines, just to be safe, could say _thank you_ or _that means a lot to me_. Yet he doesn’t. It’s been a long time since Viktor could easily find the right words for the important things, and today is no different. But this moment, this meeting, this wonder of a man before Viktor, is _really_ important. So Viktor doesn’t use words.

Instead, Viktor gets to his feet, closes the distance between them, and wraps his arms around Yuuri.

Yuuri freezes, instantly. But he doesn’t pull away. And he could have, easily – Viktor doesn’t hug him tightly, just closely, and only for a brief moment. When he steps back, he still keeps a light hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, because he _really_ wants to reassure Yuuri that he’s not offended by anything Yuuri said, earlier. Not to mention that the idea of completely letting go of Yuuri just doesn’t seem right.

“It’s all right,” Viktor says, trying another gentle smile. “Thank you, for telling me what you actually think.”

“It wasn’t… I wasn’t planning on saying all that.” Yuuri’s blush has returned, in full force this time. “I’ve admired you for a long time. So please believe me when I say that I do like your other music, too.”

“Just not as much,” Viktor adds, grinning when Yuuri looks like he’s about to protest. “It’s fine, it’s actually more than fine. It’s interesting to know how someone else relates to my lyrics.”

Yuuri doesn’t say anything in response to that. He’s still blushing, although not as much as before, and dear God, he’s still so beautiful. _It should be illegal to be that attractive_ , Viktor thinks, and then he has to look away for a moment, so that he doesn’t do anything stupid. Like say any of this out loud. He busies himself with actually signing Yuuri’s CD, something he was too distracted to do earlier, and if the greeting he writes for Yuuri is a _lot_ more personal than his standard ones, well, so be it.

“There you go,” Viktor says, offering Yuuri his best smile as he hands the CD back (and oh, their fingers _brush_. Viktor is so, so gone.) “Would you like a selfie, as well?”

“Oh, maybe. Yes.” Yuuri carefully puts his CD back into his backpack, then digs his phone out. “Okay, so we need the other camera, and then… Ah, I’m not very good at this.”

“You don’t take many selfies?” Viktor asks, and he somehow manages not to add anything about what a travesty that is, _why not share your beauty with the world, with me_.

“My best friend takes a lot,” Yuuri says. He’s still trying to find an angle where they both fit in the picture. “So I’m in a lot of selfies, I guess, but I’m usually not the one… Oh, this could work.”

Viktor looks at the screen, where both he and Yuuri are now visible. Yuuri has actually managed to find a nice angle, from above and tilted slightly to the left. Viktor puts an arm around Yuuri’s shoulder, stepping a little closer – for the quality of the picture, obviously, selfies are _important_. He smiles, widely, and after a moment Yuuri does too, and Viktor has a very hard time looking at the camera lens and not at the screen because the image of the two of them, close together, smiling, leaning into each other’s space… It’s almost _too_ wonderful.

Sadly, Yuuri steps away from him the moment he’s taken the picture.

“I think it turned out okay.” Yuuri quickly shoves his phone in his pocket. Then he checks his watch. “I’ve got to get going.”

“So soon?” Viktor blurts out.

Yuuri stares at him.

“I mean, it’s not like there’s anyone else in line,” Viktor amends, desperately trying to save the situation. “And I could stay bit longer, I think.”

He looks around, finding Yakov over by the door, and then winces when he realizes that Yakov is glaring towards him.

“A _little_ bit longer, at least.” Viktor looks back towards Yuuri, hopeful. “If you’d like?”

“I’ve actually got somewhere to be. It’s kind of important.” For some reason, Yuuri’s expression is back to what it was when he’d first walked into the room – vaguely distressed. “But thank you. And not just for… I mean, thank you for everything you do. Your music means so much to me.”

“You’re very welcome, Yuuri,” Viktor says, and he knows he’s beaming and maybe it’s a little ridiculous but really, he can’t bring himself to care. Viktor _means something_ , to Yuuri, and that is _everything_. “Thank you so much for coming, today.”

Yuuri nods, and the smile he offers in return is perhaps a little shy, but so full of warmth.

Then he leaves, quietly, carefully shutting the door behind him.

Viktor stares at the closed door, crestfallen.

No, heartbroken.

No, in complete and utter _agony_.

“Well, I’m glad that’s finally over.” Yakov has made his way over, and is holding out Viktor’s jacket towards him. “Come on, we’re already late.”

“Yakov, I’ve fallen in love.”

Yakov sighs.

“You and your silly fixations, can’t you-”

“Don’t you _dare_ call Yuuri a fixation.”

“Fine, I won’t.” Yakov shakes the jacket impatiently. “So you’re in love. We’re still inexcusably late.”

“Pardon me, Mr Nikiforov? I think someone forgot something, look…”

They both turn around. One of the attendants from the venue has made her way over. She’s holding out a plain, white plastic bag.

“Looks like trash to me,” Yakov says.

“I’m not so sure, it’s quite heavy,” the attendant explains, her brows furrowed. “Do you have any idea who could have brought it? There weren’t that many people here, after all, and-”

“Ah!” Viktor exclaims, his eyes fixed on the bag.

Because suddenly, he remembers. Yuuri, approaching him, his backpack clutched in his arms. Yuuri, reaching into his bag to retrieve the CD for Viktor to sign. Yuuri, taking out a white, plastic bag in order to properly reach the CD case.

_This_ plastic bag.

“It’s Yuuri’s,” Viktor says, eagerly reaching for it. “Thank you, thank you _so much_ for being so attentive. He must have forgotten to put it back in his backpack.”

“Well, let’s hope it’s nothing expensive,” Yakov mutters. “Then we can just throw it away.”

“We can’t possibly go through Yuuri’s private things without permission!” Viktor protests, even as he curiously peers inside the bag. “Besides, you and I should _not_ be the ones to judge what is important or not to Yuuri, I’m sure he would appreciate getting his things back no matter how inexpensive or insignificant-”

Suddenly, Viktor freezes.

Inside the plastic bag, there’s a jersey, a pack of tissues and an empty water bottle. And most importantly, somewhere beneath the other things, there is something very, very heavy.

Something that gleams almost as if it were real gold.

***

When Phichit calls for the seventh time, Yuuri finally picks up.

“Hi, Phichit.”

“Yuuri!” Phichit exclaims, his tone urgent. “Where are you? Gala practice started hours ago and you’re not here, and Celestino says he can’t reach you – why haven’t you answered any of his calls? Why haven’t you answered _mine_?”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says. He glances over towards the nearest screen, the one by the gate  – apparently, boarding will begin in five minutes. “I’m so sorry. There was something I had to do.”

“ _Something you had to_ …” Phichit sighs, exasperated. “Please tell me you’re on your way to the arena, right now. Celestino will never let you sit this one out, you _know_ that.”

“No, I’ll be there,” Yuuri quickly reassures him. “Just not… I mean, I’m going to miss the rest of today’s practice. But tomorrow, I’ll be there.”

“Yuuri,” Phichit says, sounding very tired. “Where, exactly, are you?”

Yuuri takes a deep breath.

“I’m at Narita airport.”

Phichit is quiet for a long moment.

“Okay,” he says, and now his tone is gentle. “Were you running away?”

Yuuri laughs, shakily.

“No, I wasn’t. I’m not.”

“Okay,” Phichit repeats, and unfortunately he sounds like he doesn’t believe Yuuri even a little bit. “Then would you like to explain to me what in the world you’re doing in _Japan_ , when you’re supposed to be at the Olympic gala practice in _South Korea_?”

“... it’s a long story?”

“That’s not an answer,” Phichit snaps. “I’m your best friend and you’re not making any sense and I’m _worried_ , you’ve worried me, which means that you basically owe me an answer.”

Yuuri winces – because while Phichit truly is a better best friend than Yuuri would ever have dared to hope for, he also knows _exactly_ which buttons to push to make Yuuri open up about almost anything.

Then again, it might actually be smart to tell Phichit. Maybe he can help Yuuri keep the whole truth from Celestino.

“Okay,” Yuuri relents, and then continues before he has time to change his mind. “So, Viktor Nikiforov happens to be on tour right now, and-”

“ _Yuuri_ ,” Phichit groans. “No. You didn’t.”

Yuuri smiles, helplessly.

“I mean, I kind of had to.”

“No, you kind of really didn’t!” Phichit disagrees, his tone bewildered. “Considering that you have more important things going on like, I don’t know, the actual Olympics?”

“Remember that contest I told you about, a while ago?” Yuuri asks him. “The one where the price was an exclusive meet and greet with Viktor Nikiforov?”

It takes Phichit a moment to reply.

“Wait. Are you saying you won?”

“Yes. I did.”

“You’re going to meet _Viktor_? Musical genius, living legend, Viktor number-one-on-all-the-charts Nikiforov?”

“I actually met him today.”

Phichit gasps, then _squeals_. Yuuri lets himself just smile for a moment, before he continues.

“I told you this was important. Phichit, I – I couldn’t _not_ go. I just couldn’t. I know I missed gala practice, but-”

“No, hey, you’re fine,” Phichit interrupts. Suddenly, he sounds elated. “Everything’s fine. I wish you’d told me, but now I sort of get why you didn’t. We’re good. I’ll talk to Celestino, okay? Just try to get back here as soon as possible.”

Yuuri breathes out.

“Thank you. Thank you _so much_ , Phichit.”

“Anytime. And just so you know, as soon as you’re back you’re giving me _all_ the juicy details on your meeting with Viktor.”

“I’m not sure how juicy you’ll find it,” Yuuri tells him, thinking back on his interactions with Viktor and trying not to wince. “I, uh, may have accidentally told him that everything he’s ever written is terrible, except for this one song?”

“You _what_?” Phichit exclaims. “But you don’t… I mean, you’re literally Viktor’s biggest fan. Please tell me you told him that?”

“Oh, would you look at that, it’s time for me to board,” Yuuri says, hurriedly. “I’ll text you when I’m back in South Korea, okay?”

“Now wait just a minute, you can’t just-”

Yuuri hangs up.

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and tries to not think about anything at all.

It works for maybe two seconds.

If Yuuri thinks about it, his mind hasn’t stopped spinning ever since the day before, when he got the score for his free skate.

For once, he had actually felt like he’d done pretty well, or at least done _okay_ – the landing on his quad flip might have been his best one yet in competition, and his other technical elements had felt decent. From the way Celestino had beamed towards him, Yuuri had figured that the rest of his performance must have looked pretty good, too.

He still couldn’t quite believe the score – 223,52, bringing him to a total of 321,35. Six points ahead of Yuri Plisetsky.

Gold.

Yuuri opens his eyes, breathes in and out.

He _still_ can’t believe it.

He certainly wouldn’t have believed it, if someone had told him at the beginning of the season that he’d place first at the Olympics. Skate America hadn’t gone well at all, and Yuuri didn’t even want to _think_ about NHK Trophy. There had been much speculation, after he’d failed to advance to the Grand Prix Final, about whether or not Yuuri was even under consideration to represent Japan at the Olympics. Yuuri had wanted to just skip Nationals and be done with it, after he’d read one of the more strongly worded articles on the subject.

Of course, Celestino hadn’t let him withdraw.

Yuuri had won Nationals.

Right before, Yuuri had found out about a contest where the winners would get to meet Viktor Nikiforov at one of his tour stops. Yuuri had signed up immediately, making Tokyo his first choice. Because while the date of the meet and greet in Tokyo was right during the Olympics, it was actually the day _after_ the free skate. If Yuuri did get selected for the Olympics, which was unlikely, and if he actually won the chance to meet Viktor, also unlikely, then Yuuri could still make it to Tokyo in time.

Of course, he hadn’t counted on having to stay another day in South Korea for a _medal ceremony_ , of all things.

He’d left right after, slipping away while Celestino was busy talking to some of the other coaches. Because while Celestino was very understanding of Yuuri’s anxiety and the support he needed to succeed, he definitely wouldn’t have had enough patience to allow any of this.

Come to think of it, Yuuri should probably start working on his apology.

At least it had been worth it.

Sure, Yuuri had embarrassed himself quite thoroughly – multiple times and in several different ways, just to make sure Viktor Nikiforov _definitely_ remembered him as that guy who was super late and then proceeded to insult all of his music. Yuuri winced as he thought back on the things he’d ended up saying to Viktor. _It’s vulnerable, if you even know what that means anymore. It’s more real than anything you’ve written before or since._

Because that’s exactly what a critically acclaimed record-breaking artist likes to hear from some guy who couldn’t even bother to show up on time.

Then again, it wasn’t like Yuuri had expected himself to be all smooth and charming with Viktor. In fact, he hadn’t expected that at all. Yuuri wasn’t so much of a fool that he believed himself capable of anything like that.

That’s the thing about always having low expectations – they’re all too easy to exceed.

And maybe Yuuri hadn’t actually exceeded his expectations of himself. But Viktor. Oh God, _Viktor_.

Viktor had been perfect.

Even as Yuuri had stumbled his way through their entire conversation, Viktor had been perfectly polite, effortlessly charming. And so understanding, too, despite the fact that Yuuri had been the very definition of a walking disaster. _It’s no problem. I can hardly expect to be the the center of anyone’s universe, can I?_

_You are_ , Yuuri had thought wildly. _You’ve always been. And now you’re here, and I’ve forgotten everything I wanted to say, but I don’t even care. You’re right here._

_Should I remember to breathe?_

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. We will now commence boarding, starting with…”

***

Viktor has lost count of how long he’s spent staring at the medal in his hands.

Because it is a medal. An Olympic gold medal. And unless Yuuri had come straight from a very ambitious costume party with ridiculously realistic props, Viktor is pretty sure that he’s looking at the real thing.

Yakov, who has for some reason been on the phone ever since Viktor held up the medal for him to see, finally comes to sit down opposite him.

“I’ve talked to PR. They’re on standby.”

Viktor frowns.

“Do we have to get them involved? I was thinking that I could just find a way to get hold of Yuuri and let him know he forgot something, should be simple enough, and then-”

“Of course you will,” Yakov interrupts. He sounds very tired. “I’d never expect you to actually follow my instructions. No, PR are ready for after all that, when you’ve inevitably screwed this up.”

“Yakov! You wound me!” Viktor throws his arms out, trying his best to look appropriately outraged. “How can you have so little faith in me?”

“For the love of God, Viktor – _please be careful with that_.” Yakov reaches out to slowly and carefully take the medal from Viktor, handling it as though it were made of glass. “The boy will never love you if you damage the prize from the greatest moment of his career.”

That makes Viktor tilt his head curiously.

“Is this the first time Yuuri has won the Olympics?”

“Apparently, this is the first time Yuuri has won any international competition,” Yakov mutters. “PR says the competition result is a surprise to the figure skating world.”

“Figure skating,” Viktor repeats, his eyes back on the gleaming medal in Yakov’s careful hands. “My Yuuri is a figure skater. Wow.”

“His name is Yuuri Katsuki,” Yakov supplies. “And as of yesterday, he’s the new Olympic figure skating champion.”

“So the Olympics are over for Yuuri, then? And that’s why he’s back in Japan.”

“PR thought that was strange, actually,” Yakov continues. “After the competition itself there’s supposed to be some sort of gala performance. Yuuri obviously needs to stick around for that. Since he won.”

“A gala performance,” Viktor repeats.

And then he starts to smile.

“That sounds _perfect_.”

“It does?” Yakov asks, his tone already weary. “Viktor. Viktor, _no_.”

“Yakov. Can you please find out when and where this gala is taking place?”

***

Phichit hugs him for so long, Yuuri is starting to doubt that he’ll ever actually let go.

“I’m not going anywhere, you know,” Yuuri tells him, awkwardly patting his shoulder. “Not this time.”

“No, I know,” Phichit says, yet he still doesn’t let go. “I’m just so, _so_ proud of you. And I didn’t get to hug you enough, yesterday.”

Yuuri smiles.

“Thanks, Phichit.”

Phichit takes a slight step back. His eyes are watery.

“My best friend. The Olympic champion.”

Yuuri laughs shakily.

“That sounds so unbelievable.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Phichit says.

“Yes, it does. Honestly, I’m still waiting for the judges to realize what a terrible mistake they’ve made.”

“Yuuri, _no_ ,” Phichit repeats. His tone is fierce. “Don’t say that. Everyone knows that this has been such a long time coming. I’ve been waiting, Celestino’s been waiting and so many others who love and support you have been waiting  – not hoping, _waiting_. Because we’ve all known that you’ve got what it takes to compete with the best of the best. That you’ve got what it takes to win. It was only a matter of time.”

Yuuri smiles, because everything about this is so like Phichit, and even though they saw each other that same morning Yuuri still feels like he’s missed him.

However, Yuuri also shakes his head.

Phichit sighs.

“You _won_ , Yuuri,” he continues, as stubborn as ever. “You’ve won an Olympic gold medal. No one can ever take that away from you.”

“I guess so.” Yuuri clears his throat, barely looking at Phichit as he attempts to change the subject. “Do you know how Plisetsky is doing, by the way?”

Phichit frowns.

“Just peachy, I think. Why do you ask?”

Yuuri stares at him.

“You _know_ why,” he says, because really, Phichit must know. Everyone knows. “You were there.”

“Hold on. You’re not talking about that fall he took during practice, the day before the short. Are you?”

Yuuri nods.

“But that was before the competition even started,” Phichit continues, speaking slowly. “And he was _fine_ , Yuuri. He got right back up and landed a perfect quad lutz.”

“Some say the landing on that lutz was shaky.”

“Really? I haven’t heard anyone… _Wait_.” Phichit narrows his eyes. “Yuuri. Please tell me you don’t think the only reason you won was because Yuri Plisetsky had an unfair disadvantage? Which he didn’t have.”

Yuuri coughts lightly, averting his eyes.

“ _Yuuri_.”

“Okay, so I don’t think that’s the _only_ reason.”

“Jesus,” Phichit mutters. “What am I supposed to do with you.”

“There’s been several columns written by very respectable sports journalists speculating whether or not that fall had a impact on Yuri Plisetsky’s performance,” Yuuri hurries to explain. “Really, it’s not just me.”

“Yes, I’m sure all two of them were very convincing,” Phichit snaps. “Yuuri. Everyone from Lambiel to Giacometti have congratulated you on a well-deserved victory. Even Yuri Plisetsky himself said he wasn’t ashamed to lose to you. What more do you need?”

Yuuri opens his mouth, and closes it again.

He knows he’s not wrong about this. He’s _not_. Although maybe Phichit isn’t entirely incorrect, either.

Yuuri just doesn’t know how to answer that question.

Thankfully, Phichit takes pity on him.

“We’ll talk more about this later,” he says sternly. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good,” Phichit says. And then he’s smiling again. “So. Viktor Nikiforov.”

Yuuri can’t help it – he smiles, too.

“Yeah.”

“Was he wonderful?”

“He was.”

“What did he say? What did _you_ say?”

“We both said a lot of things. And he signed my CD, look…”

Yuuri opens his backpack and carefully pulls out his copy of _Lost and found_ , which might just be his new favourite thing in the world. Because Viktor signed it for him.

 

_Yuuri,_

_Your passion inspires me._

_For my next work, I will strive not to fall short of your expectations. Your approval would be my greatest reward._

_Yours,_

_Viktor_

 

“He wrote ‘yours’,” Phichit notes, both eyebrows raised. “And he didn’t actually sign his last name? Only his first.”

“That’s true,” Yuuri says. He reverently touches Viktor’s name, careful not to smudge it. “I like it, though. It’s personal.”

“It sounds _very_ personal.”

 Yuuri smiles.

“He was… surprisingly easy to talk to.”

“You definitely made the right decision, skipping gala practice for this,” Phichit says, his eyes still fixed on Viktor’s message. “Besides, it’s not like your _Swan lake_ needs a lot of work. I know you’ll skate it beautifully.”

Yuuri winces.

“Right. The gala. Tomorrow night.”

“Yes, tomorrow night,” Phichit agrees, his tone stern as he continues. “And you can’t skip it. Remember how we said you can’t skip the gala?”

“I know,” Yuuri says. “I just don’t like the idea of it. Or _Swan lake_.”

“Well, you could always change your exhibition program last-minute,” Phichit jokes, although he looks half serious. “That’d be so fun.”

“Ah, no,” Yuuri says quickly. “That wouldn’t be very like me at all.”

“No, not really,” Phichit agrees.

Yuuri sighs, turning the CD over in his hands. Viktor looks back at him from the picture on the back of the case. He looks younger, Yuuri thinks, which makes sense – the picture is at least ten years old – but he also looks familiar. There’s something in his eyes that Yuuri swears he caught a glimpse of earlier that day, when they met. Something refreshing, and unexpected. Something surprising.

Yuuri turns the CD back over, looking at the cover again, at the message from Viktor. Then at the title, _Lost and found_. And then something clicks. Maybe it’s because of all the times he’s listened to this song, not only to drown out the overbearing silence that surrounds him when his thoughts get the better of him but because he actually loves it, because it speaks to him, the words as true as if he’d written them himself – or maybe it’s because of the new memory of meeting Viktor that same day, when Viktor had somehow helped him block out everything that’s happening too fast around him for a few, perfect, golden moments, like a deep breath of air before going back under water. Maybe, Yuuri wants to hold on to that feeling for as long as he’s able to.

Either way, Yuuri turns resolutely towards Phichit, feeling oddly grounded in his impulsive decision.

“So, hypothetically,” he begins, his tone light. “If I did want to change my exhibition program last-minute. Would you help me?”

Phichit, who’s just taken a sip of water, starts coughing uncontrollably.

***

“You’re the best, Chris,” Viktor says, not for the first time. “I’m so glad we’re friends.”

Chris laughs.

“You do realize this was easy for me, right?” he asks. “Sure, I did need to charm my way to that extra backstage pass, but it’s not like that was hard.”

“I’m still grateful,” Viktor says. He’s leaning on the side of the rink, watching a skater from Thailand finish a quite impressive Katy Perry medley – apparently, he’d placed fifth. “I might have been able snag a gala ticket some other way, but it was nice to be able to slip in so discreetly. Besides, the view from here is just spectacular.”

“Don’t think I won’t call in the favour another time,” Chris tells him pleasantly. “What did you think of my performance, by the way?”

“I’d say it was decent, except that it was also quite... indecent.” Viktor offers Chris a slight grin. “Congratulations on your bronze, by the way. You’re making Switzerland proud.”

“Thank you,” Chris says, although there’s just a hint of frustration in his voice. “You know, I could have won. If only someone had thought to ban people named Yuri from competing, I would’ve had it in the bag.”

Viktor frowns.

“My Yuuri didn’t get both gold and silver. Or did he?”

Chris laughs again.

“I’ll explain it to you some other time. Your Yuuri is about to start his performance, look.”

Viktor’s eyes snap back towards the ice, and – there is Yuuri. He’s wearing a simple outfit, all black with short sleeves, and he looks very focused as he skates around the ice.

“I think you’ll like this,” Chris says, as Yuuri stops in what must be his starting position, all the way across the ice. “He’s got an extremely well choreographed _Swan lake_ program.”

The music starts.

Viktor’s eyes widens.

Because this isn’t _Swan lake_. Instead, it’s some of the most beautiful music Viktor has ever heard. There is something so appealing about the harmonies, and the rhythm, and the way Yuuri’s graceful movements seem to work in tandem with the melody, as though he is breathing it in and out, bringing it to life. It’s art, in motion, on display for Viktor to lose himself in. It’s beautiful.

And really, it shouldn’t take Viktor as long as it does to actually recognize the song. It shouldn’t. And maybe it wouldn’t have, if Viktor had ever heard _Lost and found_ quite like this, the way Yuuri seems to hear it. The way Yuuri is elevating it into something fragile yet beautiful, something vulnerable. Something completely wonderful.

Viktor may or may not have tears in his eyes as the performance ends with Yuuri at center ice, his hands stretching above his head, reaching out for something.

A moment of silence.

Then, the crowd explodes.

Yuuri looks a little shaken as he takes a bow, and then another. He leaves the ice quickly, ignoring all the flowers and stuffed animals that are raining down from the audience. However, a small smile is playing across his lips. As soon as he steps off the ice, he is immediately surrounded by a small crowd of other skaters, several of whom are trying to hug him all at once (the one from Thailand appears to be the most successful).

Viktor, meanwhile, has turned slowly towards Chris.

“I have to see him, Chris. Please.”

“Yes, you do,” Chris agrees. He looks both surprised and delighted by Yuuri’s performance. Viktor can relate. “Don’t you worry, I’ve got a lot of credibility among those younger skaters. This should be easy.”

***

“Hey, Yuuri? Do you have a second?”

Yuuri turns around, or tries to – he’s still got Phichit holding onto him in something that is probably supposed to be a hug.

It’s Christophe Giacometti. Yuuri would be confused about how in the world Chris managed to make his way through the crowd, except that he can see how everyone else seem to have just… stepped aside, to let Chris through. Which, okay, Yuuri would probably have done the same.

“I’m a little tied up at the moment, Chris.”

“Yes, well.” Chris carefully disentangles Phichit’s arms from around Yuuri’s neck, and places a steadying hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “My apologies, Yuuri, but I’m going to steal you away for a minute – _stunning_ performance, by the way, we should definitely get a drink sometime  – except not right now, because there’s someone here to see you.”

“I might be too exhausted to see anyone right now,” Yuuri says, even as he lets Chris steer him away from the side of the rink, away from the people gathered around him, Phichit following closely behind.

“It won’t take long,” Chris says. For some reason, he sounds excited. “Besides, I think you’re going to find that this is important.”

They’ve made their way backstage, walking past the now empty changing rooms. Chris seems to be leading them towards the one at the very back, furthest away from the arena. Yuuri takes the opportunity to slip back into his jacket as they’re walking – he’s got a feeling Phichit will go right back to clinging to him at the earliest possible opportunity, so if he wants to wear anything but his black v-neck for the rest of the evening it’s probably now or never.

“I really am feeling a bit tired,” Yuuri tells Chris, and well, that’s an understatement. Yuuri feels completely wiped out. “I’m sorry if I’m not able to pay too much attention.”

For some reason, that makes Chris laugh.

They enter the room. Someone is already in there.

“Yuuri! It’s wonderful to see you again.”

Yuuri involuntarily takes a step back. His eyes are wide. His hands are shaking.

Viktor Nikiforov smiles towards him.

_Viktor Nikiforov_.

“You’re in Tokyo,” is the first thing Yuuri says, because of course it is.

“Oh, I was,” Viktor says brightly. He’s taken a step forwards. “But much like you, I didn’t stay there very long.”

“No, I… I can see that.”

Viktor’s smile widens.

“You forgot something, in Tokyo,” he continues. “And I’m sure you’ve been worried, but it’s all right – I’ve kept it perfectly safe! And I’m very pleased that I get to return it to you, personally.”

Yuuri frowns a little. Because really, he didn’t forget anything in Tokyo. Did he? At least not anything important. The signed CD is safe in his hotel room, and he’s definitely got his wallet and passport.

Viktor reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket, his movements for some reason very careful as he pulls out-

Yuuri’s eyes widen.

“Oh,” he says. “I didn’t realize.”

Behind him, Phichit makes some sort of noise, and Yuuri is grateful that they’re not making eye contact at this very moment. It’s bad enough that Phichit will _never_ let him forget about this.

“Really?” is what Viktor says. And he doesn’t sound surprised, or confused – he sounds curious. “You didn’t even notice? That your medal was missing?”

“I wasn’t – I mean, I haven’t exactly looked for it,” Yuuri tries to explain. “But, uh, thank you. For bringing it here. I’m so sorry you had to go out of your way to take care of this.”

“I’m not sorry.”

Viktor turns the medal over in his hands, glancing towards it briefly, before his eyes are back on Yuuri. His smile is inexplicably wide.

“I get to see you again,” he continues, and Yuuri can’t quite stop himself from trying to separate the overjoyed tone of Viktor’s voice from the words coming out of his mouth – because how could they possibly be related? “I got to see you skate.”

Right. Viktor’s seen him skate. Viktor saw _that_ performance.

“And I have to say, I never thought-”

“I’ll make it better,” Yuuri interrupts hurriedly.

Viktor pauses. He looks startled.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Next time,” Yuuri clarifies, dropping his gaze to the ground. He wishes his voice wasn’t so quiet. “I’ll skate it better, next time. I know it needs more work.”

“Hm,” Viktor says.

And then he doesn’t say anything at all.

“I’ve never actually skated to _Lost and found_ , before,” Yuuri hears himself continuing, because apparently he’s determined to make even more of a fool of himself before this is over. “It wasn’t… It’s not a finished program. I made up half of that choreography on the spot. Next time, I’ll do it justice.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Viktor says.

The tone of his voice suggests that he’s realized something. Yuuri glances up towards him, just briefly.

Viktor looks curious.

“You want to improve,” Viktor says, and it’s not a question. “You’ve won the Olympics and followed that up with a gala performance that earned a five-minute standing ovation, and your first thought is that you need to be better.”

“Of course I need to be better,” Yuuri says. It’s a truth he’s held onto for so long, now. “People say I’m a fraud, that I’m not good enough. That I’m overscored. I have to keep trying to prove them wrong.”

“Okay,” Viktor says, and Yuuri is so, so grateful that he doesn’t try to argue. “Personally, I thought your performance was beautiful.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, blinking. “That’s… Thank you.”

“And I’m so pleased to hear you say that you want to skate to my music again,” Viktor continues, and now the excitement is back in his voice. “Because actually, I was hoping to persuade you to let me work with you, on your next performance?”

Yuuri can’t stop himself from looking up to face Viktor, then, if only because he can’t quite believe what Viktor just said. Except that Viktor _did_ actually just say that, didn’t he? His expression is perfectly serious – it doesn’t seem like there’s some sort of joke that Yuuri’s not getting. In fact, Viktor actually looks a bit nervous – and a lot hopeful.

Viktor Nikiforov wants to work with him.

What does that even mean?

“I’m not sure if I understand,” Yuuri says, and he’s sort of proud of the fact that he’s managed a full sentence of actual words, despite everything. “You don’t skate. Do you?”

“Certainly not,” Viktor agrees. “But I have been known to write a song or two. Although not for a while, now, because I haven’t been able to find any real inspiration – until _you_ , that is.”

“Me,” Yuuri says faintly.

Chris, who is hovering a couple of metres behind Viktor, is grinning widely. Phichit, meanwhile, is on his phone, and from the way he’s angling it Yuuri would guess that he’s started to film.

“Yes, you.” Viktor looks positively enthralled. “My wonderful Yuuri. My next project is going to be all about _you_.”

“Are you sure that’s such a good idea?”

“It’s the best idea I’ve ever had!” Viktor declares, his enthusiasm palpable. “Starting today, Yuuri, I am going to be your composer. All the music I write will be exclusively for you!”

Yuuri isn’t entirely sure what his face is doing, but he’s pretty sure that some of his shock must be showing in his expression. Unfortunately, Viktor looks undeterred.

“You can’t,” Yuuri still says, because clearly, someone needs to talk some sense into Viktor. “Oh, Viktor, please don’t.”

Viktor’s expression falls.

“You don’t want me?”

“No, I do,” Yuuri says, desperately. “I’ve never wanted anyone more, but – Viktor, you _can’t_. People would hate me, they would say that you’ve thrown away your career for me, that I’m a waste of your time and talent.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, speaking slowly. “You are an Olympic figure skating champion.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be.”

Viktor contemplates that for a moment.

“Well,” he says. “You _are_. Here, let me…”

He takes another step forwards, closing the distance between them, and carefully places the medal around Yuuri’s neck.

“Gold suits you,” Viktor adds quietly, and now he’s smiling again.

Yuuri’s mind is spinning.

Viktor doesn’t step back.

“Next time,” he begins, his tone decisive. “Next time you win a gold medal, Yuuri, you’ll be skating to music that I have composed.”

Yuuri laughs, shakily.

“You’re not going to change your mind, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” Viktor says, his tone softer as he continues. “Please, Yuuri. Let me do this. It’ll be fun.”

Yuuri allows himself to actually consider Viktor’s proposal for a moment. It’s a bit difficult, especially with Viktor in such close proximity – and maybe that is actually the entire problem, right there.

“If you really want to do this,” Yuuri begins, letting his gaze drop to the floor, “You should know that I might be a little bit in love with you.”

Viktor is quiet.

“So, if that’s a deal-breaker for you,” Yuuri continues, because the silence is just too much, too suffocating. Too loud. “Please tell me.”

Slowly, Viktor brings his hand to Yuuri’s chin, gently tilting his head up.

Viktor’s smile is blinding.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://eriskay.tumblr.com/). Come say hi!


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